Give In To Me
by Harpoxy
Summary: In 1995, Dean Winchester was kicked out of the house when John found him in bed with his brother. After an accident takes the life of his caretaker, Dean is back living with John and Sam, leading to a web of lust, lies and deceit within the Winchester family. Struggling to come to terms with his past, Sam tries to fight the attraction he feels to a brother he loves and hates.
1. A Blast From The Past

**So, this is my first fic EVER and I'm not sure what to make of it. Should I continue or should I salt and burn it in a way that would make the Winchester boys proud? Review and let me know what you think. ;)**

* * *

_Strong hands gripped a pair of creamy white thighs, forcing them open as a long, wet tongue penetrated the body of a young boy lying spread eagle on his bed. His agonized groan deepened in pitch, bottom lip sucked between his teeth as the rosy skin of his tight hole clenched around his brother's talented tongue._

_His brother. The boy closed his eyes as he tried to ignore the guilt flowing through him over what he was doing with his own flesh and blood, moaning once more as a wave of pleasure enveloped his sweat slicked skin. _

"_Shh," his brother whispered. "Hush, baby. You don't want dad to come in here and see you with your pants around your ankles, do you?"_

_He made a noise that came out muffled from the hand his sinful sibling placed over his mouth, shaking his head to make his answer clear. _

"_Good boy. Now, hold still so I can eat your little asshole."_

_His brother placed his mouth over the outer ring of muscle and sucked hard, sliding that wicked tongue in and out, curling it upwards and licking at that spot deep inside of him that made him see stars. It all felt so good that he cried out again, and the older boy stopped what he was doing to smirk at the child in front of him._

"_God, you just can't get enough, can ya?"_

_The boy's eyelashes fluttered. "I-I don't think we should do this now, Dean. Daddy could walk in." _

_Dean's smirk grew. "I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Him coming in and finding out his innocent little Sammy likes gettin' it good from his fuckin' brother?"_

_Sam's cheeks reddened in shame, making his brother chuckle at his discomfort. A tremor passed through his open legs as he stared at the boy on his knees at the foot of the bed, hating himself for the arousal that crept up his spine every time he looked into those green eyes. He'd tried so hard to ignore the urges that spread through his body every time he so much as heard his brother's voice, but, like Pavlov's dog, he'd become conditioned to salivating at the mere mention of his gorgeous sibling, making him realize just how screwed up in the head Dean had made him. No matter how late Sam felt it was, he still longed for a way to break free from the love that kept him chained to the boy before him, a way to ensure his normality and his salvation so he'd never have to feel this guilt ever again. But wishes were no more real than dreams, and he was beginning to see that Dean would always be his Achilles' heel, the pebble in his shoe that just wouldn't go away, not matter how hard he tried to shake it out. _

_Sighing in defeat, Sam glanced briefly to his left before turning back to his brother. "Did you lock the door?"_

_Dean grinned, giving Sam that lecherous look that meant his cock was about to work some fucking magic in his little brother's asshole, and climbed predatorily up the small bed, blanketing his body over Sam's. _

"_No," he whispered._

The sound of Bobby's doorbell had Sam shooting straight up in bed, the book he fell asleep reading falling from his chest to rest between his spread legs. Both Bobby and his father were out back bonding over a recent hunting trip, leaving the sixteen year old alone so he could study for his upcoming History test. After the dream he'd just had, he sees now that that might not have been a good idea.

Looking around the room in confusion, he rose from the mattress with groggy eyes and a splitting headache, making his way down the stairs to the front door. He grimaced at the knock that followed the bell, holding a palm up to his forehead as he tried to stop the pulsating ache attacking his brain.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "I'm coming. I'm coming."

Gripping the knob with a weak hand, he slowly turned it and opened the door to reveal a man with spiky brown hair and a face that could put the most beautiful Victoria's Secret model to shame. The leather jacket he wore resembled the one Sam's father used to have when he was a boy, but the piercing green eyes that stared back at him was what inevitably gave the man away, the emerald orbs as familiar to Sam as his own reflection.

Struggling to keep his composure, Sam refrained from letting his jaw drop to the floor in shock, the instant erection he sported bringing back all the shame he could have sworn he'd buried four years ago.

"Dean?"

Dean's nervous smile would have been adorable, had Sam not felt like vomiting all over the living room floor. "Hiya, Sammy."

_This can't be happening. _Sam couldn't find the words to speak, so he just stood there in silence, putting his hands behind his back so that his brother-_no_, _Dean_-couldn't see his fingers twitch with the need to touch. After all this time, that magical concoction of love and lust still bubbled within the walls of his beating heart for the man in front of him, beckoning Sam to give in to what he knew he shouldn't want so badly.

Pushing his sinful thoughts to the darkest recesses of his tortured mind, Sam let the disgust he felt for Dean overshadow his burning love and looked up at his brother with a hatred that made the smile disappear from the young man's face, uncertainty replacing the charming upturning of his full lips.

"You gonna invite me in, Sam?" Dean asked, a knowing expression making his green eyes bore into Sam's hazel ones.

Before Sam could reply, he heard a clash of dishes behind him and turned to see Bobby and his father John staring at Dean in surprise, the plates Sam's dad once held in his hand nothing but a broken mess on the ground beneath him. John's shock transformed into a glare that made the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand up, but Bobby's face held a certain pain that made the young boy think he missed Dean more than he cared to admit.

"What the hell are you doing here?" John asked.

Maintaining eye contact with Sam, Dean replied, "I'm here to see my little brother. Is that a crime?"

"You little-"

"Now, everybody just calm down," Bobby interrupted, extending his palms outwards. "I'll be damned if I'm going to allow a physical altercation in my house, especially when it involves a father and his child."

"I told you that you could speak to me over the phone whenever you wanted, Dean," John said, ignoring his friend. "But coming here is highly inappropriate and you know it. I can't tell you how many times I've stressed that this could never happen."

Bobby noticed John's voice rising in anger. "John," he warned.

"No! I want to know what he's doing here and I want to know right now!"

When Dean didn't budge, or take his eyes off his brother, John strode over and grabbed the collar of Dean's jacket with both hands, shaking his son hard enough to hurt.

"Answer me, goddammit!"

Dean smiled bitterly at his father, the pitiful look on his face almost making Sam feel sorry for him. "Rosa's dead."

Sam's brows furrowed in confusion. _Who the fuck is Rosa_?

John let go of Dean and sank against the doorway, exchanging bewildered glances with Bobby. "Oh, no."

Dean looked at Sam before dragging his gaze back to his father. "I see coming here was a big mistake. I'll just leave, then."

Dean shot Sam a longing look that the younger boy involuntarily reciprocated and was about to walk out the door when a firm 'no' came from Bobby's direction. All heads turned to look at the gruff hunter, just as perplexed as he was about his adamant refusal.

"You're not going anywhere, kid. Like it or not, this boy is family, John, and family don't turn on their blood."

John came up to Sam and put a protective arm around his shoulders, drawing him in close and glaring daggers at his oldest son. "I'm sure some exceptions can be made."

"Don't do this now," Bobby said. "Not in front of the boy. Dean, get in here. You, John, and I are going to have a little chat and Sam is going to go to his room."

John shot an incredulous look Bobby's way. "You cannot be fucking serious."

Bobby's face contorted in bewildered disgust as he walked up to where John stood beside Sam, looking as if he was trying to fight off anger. "This is my house and you'll do what you're told, boy."

For a moment, Sam thought John was going to argue, but when the grip on his body loosened, he knew his father was defeated.

Sighing, John said, "Alright" and made his way to the junkyard in the back, waiting for Bobby and Dean to follow.

"Go to your room, Sam," Bobby said, breaking the silence that came over them when John left. "I'll come and get you when supper's ready."

"But-"

Bobby's no-nonsense expression made whatever Sam was going to say turn to ash in his mouth, and with his head hanging down, ascended the stairs to his bedroom, closing the door softly behind him.

* * *

John's voice boomed like thunder throughout the entire house, shaking the very foundations with its brutal intensity.

"This is insane!" he screamed, his declaration making Sam's head rise from the book he was reading. Standing up, he slowly crept up to his bedroom door and cracked it open, stepping out just enough to where he could spy on the fight breaking out downstairs.

"How can you sit there and say all of this, John?" Bobby roared. "He's your kid!"

"I wish that bastard had never been born! I could have killed him for what he did to Sam. How can you of all people allow him in this house after everything he has done?"

"How can you not? He's your own flesh and blood."

John laughed. "You wanna talk about flesh and blood? Yeah, let's do that. Let's talk about the night I walked in and found Dean with his filthy little prick buried balls deep in my youngest son's ass."

"I don't wanna hear this," Bobby muttered, falling into a chair.

"Tough shit!" John retorted hotly, hunching over to yell at his best friend. "You weren't there, Bobby. You didn't hear the sound of it all, the moaning and groaning he did, the filth he spewed from his lips, Sam's helpless whimpering as his underdeveloped body was given pleasure it had no business receiving. You didn't see the look on that poor boy's face when he was getting fucked by his big brother. You didn't see his eyes and mouth wide open, his body completely rigid, the surprised gasps that made him sound like he was struggling to breathe. If you could have been there to see just what went down, there's no fucking way you would dare step up to me and tell me I'm being a rotten human being for wanting to abandon that pervert a second time. He molested his little brother, dammit! He's toxic and I want him gone. Do you hear me? Gone!"

Bobby stared at John so long Sam thought for sure that he would acquiesce to John's demands. But after what felt like forever, Bobby instead rose and slowly came up to John, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

"Do you honestly think I didn't feel the same way you did when all of this shit first went down?" he asked, his voice so quiet, Sam could barely hear him. "Don't you think I would have strangled him too, if I'd had the chance? You're not the only one who loves Sam, goddammit! I love him too! But as much as you don't want to admit it, Dean is still the same little boy who used to come to my house and eat up all of my apple pie, the one who took care of Sam when you were too busy tracking down a demon we all knew you'd never catch, the one who did every single fucking thing you asked him to because he looked up to you like a son should and the one who comforted his mother while you were off doing god knows what. He was the one who constantly picked up your slack, and the one who I always knew would grow up to be more of a man than you'd ever be. He may have done wrong, but he is still the closest thing I've ever had to a son alongside Samuel and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you throw him away!"

Tears were falling down Sam's cheeks by the time Bobby was done, the angry and tortured tone he'd developed by the end of his tirade echoing loudly in Sam's ears. Going back to his room and shutting the door, he fell on his bed and cried harder than he'd ever allowed himself to, bitterness and befuddlement rattling his very core. He hated his brother for what he'd done, for taking away his innocence long before he'd had the mental capacity to refuse Dean's lascivious advances. He hated the molestation, the virginity that should have been his to give away, and all of the memories that still clung to the walls of his mind, the good merging with the bad to leave Sam with a confusion so great, he was sure he'd end up insane before the last breath of life left his body.

Dean was here. He still couldn't get over it, and what was worse, he didn't know how to feel about it all. He hated him, but he also loved him, and that love wouldn't go away just because of the things he made Sam do in the dark. It was still there because his brother was the one who practically raised him for the first twelve years of his life, and that was something Sam couldn't just forget.

A knock on Sam's door made him jump in surprise, tension straining his muscles as he thought of what he'd do if Dean was on the other end. A sigh of relief fell from his lips as Bobby entered, followed by a gasp as he tried to hold in sniffles he didn't want the old man to see.

Silence fell like a dark cloud over Sam and Bobby as they stared each other down, neither one wanting to start a conversation they both dreaded having. When it all became too much, Sam's shoulders slumped in defeat as he bowed his head, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his black sweater.

"I can't do this, Bobby. I thought all of this was behind me and now I see that it's not and-" Sam interrupted himself to let out a humorless laugh- "I still love him."

Bobby nodded. "I do too, kiddo . . . which is why I have to let him stay. He doesn't have anywhere else to go and I refuse to just put him out on the street. I'm so sorry, Sam. I feel like I've failed you."

Sam looked up, astonished. Springing up from his bed, he all but ran into the arms of the man who'd been more of a father to him than his own, crying softly into his denim jacket.

"You didn't fail me. You've never failed a thing in your life."

Bobby snorted. "Trust me, I'm guilty of my fair share of wrongdoings. But I promise you this, kid; no matter what happens, nobody is ever going to hurt you again. Not in my house."

Sam allowed himself to be held, taking in the events of the past couple hours. Darkness descended upon the city, the sun disappearing into the west as the young boy thought back to when this all started, and what it meant for the people living under Bobby's roof. There was a war being raged within the Singer household, a war which Sam was sure would inevitably lead to bloodshed. One thing was for sure though; Dean's presence was going to alter Sam's very existence without his consent, and only time would tell whether he'd be able to pick up the pieces like last time . . . or whether this all-consuming storm would destroy him forever.


	2. Stay Away

**Dude! I got my very first hater and I only put up one chapter! This is totally awesome. Made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, kind of like when you drink hot chocolate on a cold day. To the person in question: yes, I'm sure most of the Wincest fans have siblings and no, we do not rape them. I would have kept your rant as a momento to treasure and cherish, but sentimentality isn't really my thing. Nice trolling, though. Really. ;)**

**On a more positive note, I'm overwhelmed by the amount of reviews I got for my first chapter . . . like ever. I would have had this up yesterday, but a familial complication led me up to Oklahoma for the day so I didn't have time to work on it. But, to make up for it, I finished this in less than a day just for you. Don't know how good it is, but I'm sure you'll all tell me. Not too sure I liked the ending, but no biggie. Thank you all so much for the reviews. They really rock my socks. :D**

* * *

The amber rays of the morning sun that peeked through the curtains of Bobby's bedroom felt like a mockery to the old man, almost as if mother nature bragged of its radiant light while the Singer household rested in pure darkness. Birds chirped outside with a tone that would have been soothing, had the events of the previous night been nothing more than a bad dream. But, unfortunately for the Winchesters, it seemed life had taken a turn for the worse.

Bobby wished he knew how all of this started. More importantly, he wished he was there when this insanity between Dean and Sam first began so that he could have intervened. He felt helpless as he watched the family he loved more than anything fall apart, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was like watching a scene through a television, wanting to alter the events transpiring before your very eyes but being unable to do so because it was, quite simply, out of your hands. It was a horrendous feeling, this . . . despair. It chapped his ass and made him want to put his fist through a wall, through Dean's face, through the very fabric of existence itself. But, like a movie viewer, the entwined lives of the people he cared about were taking place behind a glass he couldn't break down, no matter how much he wanted to. Like it or not, he and the Winchesters were nothing more than puppets-with somebody else pulling the strings.

He supposed he should have seen all of this coming. Ever since the death of Mary Winchester, John and the boys had become nothing more than shells of their former selves, leaving poor little Dean caught in the crossfire. At just four years old, life had forced him to play daddy to a child he had no business caring for. From the beginning of Sam's life here on earth, Dean lived and breathed him. He had no choice because John didn't give him one. As time went on, it eventually led to something that would tear the family apart, a dark energy that perverted the love an older brother should have for his younger sibling, and turned it into a burning lust that consumed his very being. It was then that every single one of those damn Winchesters began walking on a very thin metaphorical tightrope, one that Dean began slicing through with the dull blade of an invisible knife every time he so much as looked at his little brother. When he'd finally cut too far, the whole thing fell apart and took the family down with it, and the boy everyone declared responsible for it all was sent away like he was nothing more than a perversion of nature, an abomination that had no place in society or his own blood. He was cast away, not only taking the blame on his own shoulders, but taking it off his father's as well.

It was for these very reasons that Bobby found himself on the side of the defense, taking on the role of Dean's lawyer when he wasn't sure the boy actually deserved it. John may have been right about Dean being partially at fault, but Bobby also knows that John, in his godforsaken stubbornness, refused to acknowledge his own responsibility for the way things turned out, and that pissed the old man off to no end.

The chiming of the clock on the wall signaled a new hour, making Bobby sigh as he rubbed his eyes. There was no sense in dredging up these thoughts now, especially when he could hear the tempting call of his own bathroom at the end of the hallway, a call he was more than eager to respond to.

Getting out of bed, Bobby walked toward his destination with a full bladder and an empty stomach, stopping by a cracked bedroom door that housed the body of the boy responsible for his family's disarrayed state. Making his way to the king-sized mattress, he stood by the side of the bed and smiled despite himself at the sight before him.

Dean lay on his back with his right leg bent at the knee and folded underneath his left, the hand resting on his stomach covering the skin revealed through the rising of his black t-shirt. His hair was mussed from sleep, and he carried his own brand of morning wood that Bobby tried his best to ignore. He was about to drape the discarded blankets over the boy when a tiny whimper fell from Dean's parted lips, followed by a sigh of Sam's name as the hand on his stomach traveled to his crotch.

Bobby stood frozen in place, unable to turn away when Dean's fingers slipped through the front of his jeans, pressing down on the protruding head of his hard cock.

"Sammy," he moaned, his happy sighs getting louder the longer he pleasured himself.

"God," Bobby whispered, running out of the room and falling against the door he'd shut behind him. "Oh, god."

A hand came up to his mouth as tears fell in thin rivulets down his wrinkled cheeks, breaths coming in short gasps that burned his throat with their tortuous rapidity. The scene he'd just witnessed etched itself into his retinas without his consent, forcing him to relive the moment over and over in his head like the worst kind of broken record. Why did this have to happen to them?

_Damn John. _If he'd been there the way a father was supposed to be there for his children then none of this would be happening. Dean wouldn't be pining for his own flesh and blood, Sam wouldn't be in his room trying to make sense of himself or the strange turn his life had taken and Bobby wouldn't be crying in his own hallway as he listened to the sounds of Dean getting off to a vision of his little brother's face. How they'd ever survive this, he didn't know. The only thing he was aware of was the pain inside Sam's heart, and his own regret for not having stopped this entire calamity before it started.

_Damn you, John. Damn you to hell. _

"Bobby?"

Bobby wiped his face as best he could so John wouldn't see what was going on. Putting on an air of nonchalance that he hoped would hide the jumble of feelings warring inside him, Bobby found the courage to put one foot in front of the other and met John at the top of the staircase.

"Here. Just checking on the boys."

John grimaced. "I hope to God you plan on keeping you-know-who away from my boy."

Bobby sighed. "Dean's your boy too, John."

"Fuck he is. Just make sure he doesn't so much as look at Sam or I swear to god, I'll rip that boy's balls off and feed them to the dogs."

"We don't have any dogs," Bobby muttered.

"Don't be a smartass. I got a lead on that missing person's case back in Kansas City and I have a feeling it's your run of the mill baby vamp. It's too sloppy for anything else. If I'm going to leave, I need to know that you'll keep your promise and make sure Dean stays as far away from Sam as possible."

"Yeah, don't worry. The kids'll be fine. You just do what you have to do and get back here as soon as you can. There's a lot going on around here, John. I don't need you running away from it."

John's phone interrupted his reply. Glancing down at the caller ID, he sighed and looked back up at Bobby. "I'm not going to run from anything, Bobby. Just . . . just keep Dean away."

"Sure," Bobby said to himself, watching as his best friend disappeared down the stairs. "That's what you always say."

* * *

Sam stared at his reflection in the mirror, self-disgust pouring off of him in waves. He'd hardly slept the night before, and, judging by the huge bags under his eyes, it showed. While anyone who'd gone through the emotional roller coaster that he did would have reacted the same way, he somehow knew that his particular take on things should have been different. Being a Winchester, he knew he was supposed to be strong, deal with it all in a manly way so that he could grow up to be a "superhero" like his father. How the hell was he supposed to do that when all he wanted was to run away from the life his dad tells him he should be living and start over in a place where he didn't have to be a hunter, or a rape victim? He didn't want to hunt monsters. He didn't want to find the thing that killed his mother. But above all else, he didn't want to deal with the pile of shit he was currently buried in. He needed to get the hell out. So, why was he still here?

The answer came through a memory of pink lips dragging across his skin, the quiet moans of his brother filling the bedroom as he sucked a hickey into Sam's neck that he knew would be noticed by his classmates the next day. A pleasure previously unknown to his twelve-year-old body vibrated inside of him, the hands rubbing against the thin material of his underwear ripping his orgasm from his body so suddenly that his knees buckled beneath him and he fell back into his brother's strong arms, supported by hard muscle that would soon be contracting on top of his own from violent thrusts delivered with brutal intensity, giving his body more pleasure than he knew what to do with as he moaned and groaned, begged and pleaded, over and over again until the images playing before Sam's eyes became distorted, torturing him with their cruel existence. . .

Sam shook his head, wiping it all from his mind. A fit of rage overtook him, and he found himself grabbing his lamp off the nightstand so he could hurl it as far as it would go, barely missing Bobby's head as he threw open the bedroom door.

"Sam!" Bobby snarled. "What the hell is wrong with you, boy? Are you tryin' ta kill me?"

Sam fell to the bed and put his head down in his hand. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Bobby sighed and plopped down beside Sam. "You sure you don't want to stay home today?"

"I can't, Bobby. I'll go fucking crazy if I have to stay here with him."

"I don't think I can even begin to imagine what you're going through, Sam. But I do know that, should you decide to stay home, I'll personally make it my mission that he doesn't come anywhere near you."

Sam's smile held no humor in it as he stared down at the floor, tears coursing down his cheeks. "This isn't easy, Bobby. I don't know how I'm supposed to take all this in."

"You do it one day at a time, kiddo. I know that you'll get through this. You're one hell of a good kid, but more than that, you're strong. You dealt with it all the first time before you'd even hit puberty, back when most boys your age would have crawled into a little ball and wept their hearts out until the day they died. If you could somehow find the will to live at twelve, you can sure as hell find a way to live at sixteen. I believe in you, Sam. I always have."

Sam looked up at Bobby with the faintest glimmer of hope reflecting off his hazel eyes. "You think so?"

Bobby smiled fondly. "I know so. Now, get your ass up and outta this house before you miss the bus. The last thing I need is to have your teachers callin' me again wanting to know how many hunting trips a boy can go on in a five month period."

Sam wrapped his arms around Bobby as they got to their feet, squeezing the old man for all he was worth. "I love you, Bobby. You're like the father I never had."

Bobby's face fell at Sam's words, his eyes automatically moving to a picture on the boy's dresser of John and Mary smiling bright at the camera, with a freckle faced Dean holding little Sammy in his protective arms. The picture was taken four months before the fire that took Mary's life, and it never failed to upset Bobby when he looked at the beautiful family John had, knowing that the stubborn old coot never appreciated them as much as he should have. It went back full circle to the boy he was with now, telling Bobby in no uncertain terms that the little time he spent with these kids was enough for them to think of him as their father. John had no idea what he'd done to his sons, and now it was up to Bobby to pick up the pieces of their shattered hearts and try to put them back together again. If he couldn't . . . then this family would be lost.

"I love you too, kid," he replied, his arms tightening around Sam. "I always will."

* * *

"So, if you were to write a paper on the reason behind the incestuous coupling of the Dollanganger's, you could say that Chris and Cathy had no choice about the way they felt for each other. It was through the unnatural way they were brought up that set the tone for their relationship, was it not? Locked up in an attic where all they knew was each other, it seemed almost inevitable that things would turn out the way it did, didn't it? What are your thoughts on the matter? And how would their upbringing be a basis for your views on sociology and its impact on the world? Would you say that our personalities and the way we view the world are the result of nature or nurture? Maybe a combination of both? Could it be possible for us to put our personal views aside and tackle such a taboo relationship subjectively?"

Sam sat in silence as he listened to his English teacher discuss a book that hit a little too close to home for him to take seriously, astonished at how easily life could find a way to throw his and Dean's sex life in his face. He hated how his brother managed to follow him wherever he went, but he hated this contempt he'd developed for himself even more. He just couldn't seem to find it in his heart to forgive himself for his naïvety, or recognize his innocence in something that Bobby would always insist wasn't his fault. He thought that by getting out of the house, he could take a break from constantly thinking about it all, but that effort was proven to be utterly useless. He suddenly hated his teacher with a passion he didn't even know he was capable of, and he wished that he could find the courage to throw his book right at the man's head for making him relive the past for the millionth time in a row. The corners of Sam's mouth stretched into a smile at the thought, but that one iota of happiness evaporated when a tap on his shoulder made him jump in his seat, cursing under his breath as he turned around to confront someone Sam couldn't remember ever seeing before.

"So, what do you think of the book?" the boy questioned.

"I think the subject matter is a waste of my time," Sam snapped.

When the boy tilted his head quizzically, Sam sighed. "I'm sorry. Just having a bad day. It's not your fault."

"Hey, that's okay," the boy smiled. "I'm Adam."

Sam smiled back, taking the hand Adam offered. "Sam."

"Yeah, I know who you are. You sit next to me in History class as well, though you're always so into yourself that you probably haven't really noticed."

"Sorry about that. Been really busy with school and family and all that stuff. Didn't mean to shut everyone out."

"It's cool. So, now that I've introduced myself, I can ask if you wanna go out sometime."

Sam tensed. "What, like a date?"

Adam let out a breathless laugh, hanging his head in embarrassment before looking at Sam from behind long black eyelashes. "Uh, yeah. I mean, I've always noticed you and . . . well, I think you're kinda cool. I've wanted to ask you out for a while now, but have always been too shy to do it. Now that I've finally mustered up the courage, I think it's only fair that you agree. You know, because you're such an . . . accommodating boy and all."

Sam smiled despite himself. "Oh, really? Is that so?"

"Yes, that's so. You're always helping Felicity with her homework, or staying behind to help a teacher clean up before next period. Might as well be helpful to me while you're at it."

Sam was silent for a moment, thinking it over. He may have felt a little guilty that he was actually considering agreeing to a date when he already had so much to deal with at home, but he was entitled to one night of fun after everything he'd been through, wasn't he? Would it really be a crime for him to go out with a boy who seemed kind, funny, smart and, above all else, _not_ his brother?

"Sure," Sam said hesitantly. "Sure, that'll be great. But just one night."

Adam grinned, biting at his lower lip in excitement. "We'll see."

* * *

Bobby was going to do it. He wasn't ready for it, but he was going to do it.

Standing in front of a closed bedroom door, the old man contemplated just how he was going to approach Dean, frazzled nerves creating butterflies in the pit of his stomach that he wished would go away long enough for him to get through this dreaded altercation unscathed. He couldn't explain the fright that overtook him at the thought of confronting the boy after so many years, but the many questions that had festered inside him for far too long refused to be denied answers a minute longer, and it was this overwhelming desire for truth that caused Bobby to come up to the second floor in the first place, hands shaking with dread as he spent the better part of a half hour staring at a hunk of wood that laughed at him, daring him to knock and face his fears.

"Balls," Bobby growled, rapping on the door hard enough to hurt his knuckles.

Dean opened the door and Bobby immediately got lost in familiar green orbs that glittered with unshed tears, his familiar stoic countenance somewhat disengaged as he struggled to hide his sorrow from the man standing before him.

"I'm surprised," Dean said. "I would have thought being near me was such a terrible fate that I'd be avoided like the plague."

"Yeah, well," Bobby replied, the rest of his sentence going unsaid as both men stared each other down.

Dean let go of the knob and turned around, wordlessly inviting Bobby in. Stepping foot into the room Dean immediately claimed as his own on his arrival, Bobby was astonished to find it completely spotless, with a framed photo of Dean and Sam when they were kids on the nightstand beside the bed.

"Wow," Bobby commented, picking up the picture with surprising ease. "I forgot all about this picture. How did you get it?"

"I stole it the night dad kicked me out."

"Why?"

Dean met Bobby's gaze head on. "Because his face was on it."

_Because his face was on it. _The amount of love that came from that simple sentence stunned Bobby more than he cared to admit. That love came from a bad place, and suddenly, Bobby wished John was there so he could scream at him for what he'd done to his children.

Putting down the frame, he came up to Dean and did the first thing that came into his mind: he punched him in the face.

Dean stumbled and caught himself on the dresser, wiping the blood from his nose as he stared at Bobby in confusion.

"Damn you," Bobby snarled. "What the hell were you thinking? Do you have any idea what you've done to this family? What you've done to _Sam_? Do you know how many hours I've sat here trying to figure out why? Worried to death about Sam because he refused to eat and spent all of his time hauled up in a dark room thinking about the mess his life had become? Do you know about the guilt I felt for missing you, after everything you did to that poor boy?"

Dean remained silent, letting Bobby get out everything that he'd kept inside for so long. It made him feel so grateful that he became disgusted with himself, and he paused long enough to resist the urge to punch Dean a second time.

"Do you know how happy I was when you came back? I was happy and miserable because I missed you. Regardless of what your presence was going to do to the boy you've ruined, I was still so relieved to see your face that I had to quiet the need to take your ass into my arms and squeeze you so hard, you'd die from lack of air. You turned our entire world upside down and you destroyed Sam's life, and yet, I still fucking love you. Do you have any idea how much that pisses me off?"

"I'm sorry," Dean murmured.

"Yeah, you're gonna be," Bobby retorted. When Dean looked up in shock, Bobby continued. "I'm letting you stay here because I know Rosa was all you had, and I don't want you living on your own without any family to lean on, but I'll tell you this; there's a big rule in this house that you're going to abide by, or I'll kick you out on your ass so fast, your head'll spin. I want you to stay away from Sam. Don't look at him. Don't talk to him. Don't even think about him. Do you understand me?"

Dean smirked bitterly. "Oh, is that all?"

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy," Bobby warned. "I know you and John have done some pretty heavy shit to this family, but Sam is an innocent boy who's done nothing to deserve everything you both have put him through, and I'm going to make damn sure that nothing like that ever happens again. I know you love him, and lord knows I love you, but that child is my first priority. If you so much as breathe on him, you will be gone. Now, I'm gonna ask again. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Dean replied.

Bobby looked at Dean for a long moment. He wanted to believe this boy would follow his rules so badly his head hurt, but when a flash of defiance sparked in the green eyes that focused on his own, he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Dean wasn't going to listen to him. His feelings for Sam were too strong for him to ignore, and Bobby knew that there was nothing on this planet that was going to keep the older boy away from his baby brother. This was going to prove disastrous for everyone involved, and Bobby felt like an asshole because, despite his harsh words, he loved Dean, and he knew he wasn't going to have the heart to kick him out on the street.

Making up his mind to watch over Sam with the vigilance of a hawk, Bobby went for the door, thinking his conversation with Dean had reached its end. Just as he was about to leave, Dean spoke from behind him.

"What happens if he comes to me?"

Bobby turned to face Dean, recognizing the words for what they were: a threat.

"He won't."

Dean smirked as the door closed behind the old man, the sight of Sam's smile shining from the nightstand strengthening his resolve.

"We'll see about that."


	3. Gossip Queen

**Greetings, fellow Midgardians! I apologize profusely for going a week without updating, but this chapter was a pain in my ass! I must have written it a thousand times, only to throw it out just so I could do it over again. I still think it sucks, and you might too, but because I love you all and insist on marrying every single one of you, I worked my ass off on it so you're going to lie to me and tell me it's wonderful even though we both know the truth. Until next time!**

* * *

The next few days passed by in a total blur for Sam Winchester. Between phone conversations with Adam that he tried desperately to hide from everyone else and constantly sneaking around in his own house to avoid his big brother, Sam was completely exhausted. Luckily, he'd convinced himself that he'd hit rock bottom and that things couldn't get any worse, which made him feel a little less jumpy. But ignorance is bliss, and he knew it was only a matter of time before something else came along to rain on a parade that wasn't even that big to begin with. After all, he _was_ a Winchester, and their lives always turned to shit.

That something came a day after his first date with Adam. He was kicking himself in the ass for accepting an invitation to another-the boy was very persistent-when he noticed Bobby talking to someone on the phone. His entire demeanor screamed 'kill me,' and that look was never good when it showed up on Bobby. It usually only meant one thing.

"The gossip queens are coming over for dinner tonight," he mumbled, placing the phone back on the receiver with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

Sam groaned. _I fucking knew it. _

Bessie Jackson, Margaret Keller, and Henrietta Huffington, three of the biggest loudmouths this side of the Mississippi, were obviously dubbed the town gossip queens for a reason. There wasn't a day that went by where something new wasn't happening in their shit hole of a town, and, when drama resurfaced to plague the residents, those annoying little bitches were always there to bask in its rotten ambience. They were nothing more than leeches, feeding off of chaos wherever they went, and spreading rumors about people that eventually got them to reveal their secrets to the entire world. The only reason Bobby put up with them at all was because their information had a habit of inadvertently helping him discover the possibility of a new hunt. Or, at the very least, helped him with one he was already working on.

"What did they tell you this time?" Sam asked.

Bobby sighed. "There's a new person in town that's givin' off a whole lotta bad vibes, suspicious behavior and all that. Figure I'd at least check it out. Then there's some guy who might have murdered someone. They said he looked like a werewolf. That was enough for me."

"Well, why the hell do they have to come here?" Sam whined.

"Look, boy, I don't want them here anymore than you do, but they seem to talk a hell of a lot more when I pump them full of beer and food. They sure do like to eat."

Sam rolled his eyes and took off in the direction of his bedroom, leaving Bobby to his own devices. Why the hell those annoying women had to once again curse them with their presence, Sam had absolutely no idea. All he knew was that those women delighted in misery and despair, which was probably the biggest reason they loved his family in the first place. The whole thing smelled foul to Sam. Worse, he couldn't shake this strange sense of foreboding that this visit was going to be slightly different than the others.

_Maybe I could convince Bobby to let me go to Jeremy's for dinner . . . _

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by a sound he hadn't heard since he was twelve years old.

A man. Grunting.

_Dean _grunting.

Sam followed the sound to the boy's bedroom and stopped in his tracks as he took in the sight of his brother-his _half-naked _brother-doing pull-ups on a bar he'd built into the walls when he was fifteen. His skin glistened with sweat, and, every time he lifted his body up, he made those noises that had the physiological effect of making Sam's mouth water. Once again, like Pavlov's dog, he found himself conditioned to respond to auditory stimuli that his brain automatically associated with all the times Dean had been on top of him making those sounds, recollections of what it felt like to have his big brother inside of him forcing an involuntary shiver up his rigid spine. The whole house was starting to feel very hot, making Sam finger at his shirt unconsciously, aching with the desire to take it off.

At some point during his trance, Dean must have noticed him standing there leering at his brother through the doorway, because his eyes were suddenly locked with Sam's, and he could practically feel the tension crackling between them like sparklers as he slowly got down from the bar, taking cautious steps toward the skittish teenager as if he were approaching a wild animal and was afraid of being eaten.

"Sammy?"

Sam stared at him in silence, trying his best to find words that wouldn't make him look like an idiot. After what felt like forever, he blurted out the only thing he could think of, something that made him feel like he was back in some sleazy motel with Dean while his father was away, arguing the way two siblings did when they were stuck in a room with only each other for stimulation.

"It's Sam."

Dean smiled. Not a smirk or a leer, but a real honest to god smile. Seeing it gave Sam a warm feeling deep in his heart, and he found himself smiling back before he could resist the urge. For a moment, it was like all those years of pain and separation never happened. They were just normal brothers again, bound by a bond stronger than any other, one forged with blood and years of having only each other to rely on. Then Dean started moving closer, and everything fell to pieces.

"Don't!" Sam yelled, not having the faintest idea where his outburst came from.

Dean froze. "Sam?"

Sam didn't know how it happened, but, before he knew it, he was running into his bedroom and slamming the door, pressing his back up against it in fear. He could hear Dean on the other end banging on the wood, begging Sam to come out.

"Sam! Baby, please don't leave. I promise I won't try anything. I just want to talk. Sam? Sammy! Sammy, open the door. Sammy, talk to me!"

Sam sobbed silently as he slid to the floor, confusion eating away at his brain. Why did he reconnect with Dean? After everything he's done to Sam, why in the world does he still harbor feelings for his older brother? Why did he still love him when he was supposed to hate him? And why did he still become sexually aroused whenever he so much as laid eyes on Dean? He'd hated it when they were kids because of the shame, but loved it because of the pleasure. It was a truth that Sam had always ran away from, a truth that he never wanted to admit. The guilt that gnawed at him back then was so strong that he always felt worthless when it was all over, panting and covered in his brother's sweat. His own _brother. _It made him feel sick that he kept allowing Dean to take advantage of him the way that he did, but he was just a child. What was he to do when his brother had a way about him that weakened whatever resistance a twelve-year-old was supposed to have?

There he went again. He kept blaming Dean for everything when he knew very damn well that he was just as guilty because, while he tried to stop, he never did. He may be ashamed to admit it, but he'd enjoyed every single drop of pleasure Dean had milked from him, loved it so much that he never allowed the guilt to fester until _after_ he'd reaped the benefits that having a physical relationship provided for him. But why should he blame himself when he could just as well reason that his young mind didn't have the mental capacity to comprehend or cope with a situation that extreme? When does the line become drawn between being guilt and innocence? He was able to understand the wrongness of it back then. If his mind could do that, then why the hell didn't he stop?

"Sammy?" Dean murmured, voice cracking. "Sammy, please come out."

Sam's train of thought left him when Dean spoke, leaving him confused and guilt stricken. Off to his left, Nutshell was playing from the radio he'd forgotten to turn off earlier in the morning. The sound of it silenced Dean's pleading, though Sam was sure he was still on the other side of the door.

Drowning out everything around him, Sam cried violently at the ceiling as everything with the exception of his own pain faded away into nothing. He cried for the father he never had. He cried for the brother and the life he'd lost. He cried until the sweet abyss of sleep transported him to a welcoming darkness, one that enveloped him so fast, he failed to hear both the whisper of his name and the retreating footsteps as his brother walked away from him for the second time in four years.

* * *

"God," Bobby muttered. "They're here."

Loud chatter erupted outside before Dean could ask what the hell Bobby was talking about, forcing him to stand by the old man's side and peer out through the parted curtains at the origin of the annoying racket.

"Fuck me," Dean growled. "You invited the unholy trinity? Goddammit, Bobby!"

"Don't use that tone with me, boy."

"Well, what the hell were you expecting? You think they're just gonna blab all their secrets without a good cause? You know everything comes with a price with those three, don't you?"

Bobby looked at Dean like he was an idiot. "Why the hell do you think I bought all that extra beer?" When Dean looked down as if in thought, Bobby shook his head. "Boy, you are stuck on stupid."

Dean wanted to respond, but it was clear from the way the gruff hunter turned around and walked away that his words weren't gonna matter. So, instead of standing there and defending his intelligence-which was quite considerable, if you asked him-he decided to march his pretty little ass to the front door and open the old man's house to witches who he was pretty sure were going to somehow find a way to poison their dinner. Either that or bore them to death. Whichever came first.

Bessie Jackson was the first one to lay her eyes on who she immediately referred to as "the prodigal son," yapping her gums to Dean about how happy she was that he was finally able to reconcile whatever differences he'd seemed to develop with his father when he was a teenager. She talked so long that Dean was pretty sure he was on the verge of falling asleep in the doorway, and probably would have if he wasn't suddenly saved by the sound of a loud bang coming from the kitchen, followed by a scream of 'MOTHERFUCKER!' that had all three women barging past him to join in on the chaos, feasting on it like a pack of rabid dogs.

"Bobby!" Margaret Keller screamed. "Oh, you poor dear. What happened to the Jambalaya?"

Bobby, who was on the floor covered in shrimp and glaring at the wicked smirk on Dean's face, struggled to his feet before looking at the trio from hell.

"So . . . anybody want a pizza?"

* * *

"And then he just vanished. Nobody knows where he is."

Bobby tried to listen to what he was being told. He really, really tried. But having to pay attention to both Henrietta Huffington and the two Winchester boys as they sat across from each other without looking up from their plates was proving to be damn near impossible. He had a suspicion that something went down between those two, and he was dying to get to the bottom of it. He'd hate to have to kill Dean just as they were starting to get along. Leave it up to Marjorie to have an emergency that took him away from Sam after promising to never leave him alone in the house with his brother. _Dammit._

"Bobby?"

Bobby snapped out of his daze when he realized Sam was speaking to him. "Bobby, you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I was just uh . . . pondering what Henrietta was saying."

Sam's face scrunched up. "Pondering?"

"Oh, shut up," Bobby snarled, turning his attention from Sam to Henrietta. "Was there any evidence he was the one who killed her?"

"Plenty. But it was all covered up somehow. I heard he has a friend in the police force. Maybe he cleaned everything up."

"Hmm. Well, I'll make sure to check it out. It's not everyday you hear stories of men turning into werewolves."

"No ssshit, Sssherlock," Margaret slurred in her shrill voice, clearly drunk. "He really was a nice man though, wasn't he? I'm surprised Bessie never screwed him."

Bessie looked up with wide eyes at her friend.

"What? Don't look at me like that. You know very damn well that those legs of yours will open for practically anything that moves. Hey! Remember the time you gave it up for that security officer back in Melbourne? You'd never believe the freaky shit I saw them doing that night."

"Margaret!" Bessie hissed. "Shut up!"

"There wasss another time where I peeked in on her and ssshe was with some guy who looked like he could have been a lawyer. This was back in Sssanta Fe. I spy on her through the keyhole just in time to find the guy between her legs. Ssso he's goin' to town, right? Well, at the end, when she's gotten her kicks and puts her panties back on, he's lookin' at her all hopeful and was like, 'aren't you gonna return the favor, sweet cheeks?' and, as she's gettin' up to leave the room, she turns her head without even stopping and she goes"-Margaret paused in her drunken storytelling to giggle uncontrollably-"she goes, 'get the fuck outta here.'

All the women in the room burst into raucous laughter. Dean and Sam looked up at each other and, after a brief staring contest, burst into smiles that Bobby couldn't ignore even if he'd wanted to. Under normal circumstances, he would have been thrilled that the two boys were finally getting along. He would have jumped for joy and drank until he was fucked up out of his mind. But this wasn't normal circumstances, and he found himself staring Dean down as if the poor boy were a criminal guilty of murder. He didn't know what had happened, but he had a feeling Sam's older brother took a shorter time at getting closer to Sam then Bobby ever thought possible. He'd found a way to break the rules.

_Damn kid._

"Bobby."

Bobby looked up at Henrietta as the women finally calmed down, the look on her face suggesting she was trying to figure out how to approach whatever subject she was thinking of bringing up. "I was sorry to hear about Rosa."

Bobby glanced at Dean, whose smile immediately vanished at the sound of the woman's name. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who'd noticed.

"Oh, boy. I'm sorry to have upset you, dear. I just wanted to offer my condolences. She seemed like such a wonderful woman. Were you all aware of how she died?"

"Car accident," Bobby replied. "I'm surprised none of you knew the cause of it."

"Well, we've just come back from vacation," Bessie said. "Besides, there's nothing great about a person's death. Am I correct in assuming you were all close to Rosa?"

"We wouldn't have left Dean in her care otherwise. She really was a wonderful woman."

All of the women in the room turned to look at Dean. If Sam and Bobby hadn't picked that exact moment to have a silent conversation with their eyes, they would have noticed the conspiratorial glances the females kept throwing Dean's way, and the boy's reaction as his brows contorted in anger. But they were too busy wrapped up in each other to see much of anything, and the moment was gone so quick that Bessie and the others were rising from their seats by the time they'd finally managed to break eye contact.

"I'm afraid it's time we took our leave," Bessie said. "It's getting pretty late and I have to get up early tomorrow morning."

Bobby tried not to breathe out a sigh of relief. "No problem. Thanks for the tip on Hodges. I'll be sure to look into it."

After stepping out of the Singer household and into the cool night air, Margaret turned to Bessie. "Well, he hasn't told them anything. But the evil look on his face tells me he wasn't expecting us to bring her up."

"How the hell were we supposed to know he'd keep his mouth shut?" Bessie snapped. "The only thing that boy seems to give a rat's ass about is his brother."

"If he wanted to turn us in, he would have done it a long time ago," Henrietta said.

"Yeah, well, you better hope and pray that this entire business gets put behind us, because if anyone ever finds out the truth about Rosa, or what we did with her, all hell will break loose in this town."

Margaret took one last look at the house.

_Looks like it already has_, she thought.

* * *

"Dean? You know you can't avoid me forever, kiddo."

Bobby circled around Dean as he did the dishes, trying to ignore the tensing of the boy's muscles.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, bullshit. You went after that kid after I specifically told you not to! What the hell were you thinking?"

Dean slammed a dish on the kitchen counter. "I did exactly what you asked me to do. I didn't go anywhere near him, Bobby. He came to me. All I did was exercise with my door open and the kid flocked to me like sheep to a shepherd."

Bobby looked as if he'd been slapped in the face. "Wait . . . this whole exercise thing. You did that on _purpose_?"

Dean smirked. "I know Sammy. I know how he really feels about me. I know the truth he doesn't want to admit. All I had to do was give him a little push in the right direction. I may have manipulated him, but I did it to show him that the feelings I have for him are reflected through his eyes whether he likes it or not."

"Your feelings are not normal, boy!"

"This whole life is not normal!" Dean yelled. "Becoming a daddy at four wasn't normal! Growing up in a slew of cheap motels taking care of my little brother while dad was off hunting wasn't normal! Two young boys taking down supernatural creatures with guns wasn't normal! There is nothing normal about this fucking family, Bobby. My life has been such utter chaos since the moment I was born. The only thing that makes sense to me, the only . . . constant I've ever had, has been Sammy. He's my true north. No matter where I turn that damn compass, it's always going to point to him. Our father made it so that we had nobody but each other to rely on, so you can blame him for the way I feel about my brother. It may not be sane. It may not be _normal_, but it's all I've got, and I'm not lettin' it go for anything. Not even you."

Bobby stood there stunned. It was even worse than he thought. It was worse because it made sense. But no matter how good Dean pled his case, Sam didn't seem to want it. Even if he did, the boy was only sixteen. What the hell was he supposed to do with that?

"Look, Dean. I can accept that your father is more to blame for how all this turned out than you are. I can even understand your feelings for Sam, even though I can't help but think they're wrong. But Sam is only sixteen, Dean. It's interesting because he's the same age you were when you started molesting him at twelve. _Twelve_, Dean! Now, I don't know what you're playing at here, but the next time anything like this happens, you will live to regret it. If you really care about that boy, you'll let him go."

"Bobby," Dean growled warningly.

"End it now!" Bobby snarled, pushing past Dean on his way out.

Dean watched the bubbles gather on the dirty dishes until he felt himself lose the control he'd tried so hard to hold onto, and with a yell worthy of a roaring lion, took every plate in the sink and smashed them against the wall in anger, tearing apart the kitchen piece by piece until the floor was a mess of shattered glass beneath his feet.

He could have killed his father for wanting Sam so badly. But as much as he'd always tried to fight his feelings toward his brother, keep them bottled up inside where they'd never see the light of day, he'd always known they'd eventually win out in the end. His love for the boy was too strong to ignore. It may have scared Sam. Lord knows it used to scare him. Maybe it still did. But there was no way to fight them, and he knew right away that he didn't want to. Sammy was his. He'd finally found something worth fighting for, and nobody on earth was going to take that away from him.

Finding the strength to calm the blood boiling in his blood, Dean went upstairs to go to bed, only to stop dead in his tracks at the closed door in front of his face. With trembling hands, he reached to pluck the picture taped to the wood, and smiled at a photograph of him and Sam that he'd never seen before, but remembered quite vividly. The whole thing meant he was getting to the boy, breaking down his resistance just like he knew he would. Sam belonged to Dean, and somehow, someway, he was going to prove that to him . . . whether he liked it or not.


	4. Brothers And Serial Killers

**What's up, duders?! My god am I happy to be coming out with a new chapter. I am so sorry for the delay and I hope you all don't hate me. I was sicker than a dog and it took me forever to get back on my feet (seeing me try to write when I'm sick is like watching a paraplegic try to perform a lap dance. It just doesn't work). Judging by the few reviews I got for the last chapter, you probably didn't even realize I was gone, eh? *crosses arms* Oh, alright. I forgive you. xD**

**On another note, did you guys see the trailer for Guardians of the Galaxy? Holy shitballs, am I excited! Not only is The Collector hot as fuck (don't judge me), but I get to see Rocket Raccoon! Who wouldn't be ecstatic for the chance to see a badass, wise cracking raccoon shooting machine guns from atop a giant plant named Groot? Certainly nobody I'd want to hang out with...**

**Ok, I've blabbed enough. On with the story! **

* * *

Sam came downstairs the next morning to find Bobby on his knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. Sighing, he stepped into the room and gave the old man a knowing look. "Dean?"

Bobby glanced up. "Do you even have to ask?"

Sam shook his head. "Why would he do this?" he whispered.

Bobby went back to his cleaning. "How the hell should I know? The boy's angry, he's confused . . . I honestly don't know what I'm supposed to do about him anymore. That kid is turning everyone's world upside down and I can't do a goddamn thing to stop it."

"He's never disrespected you before. Certainly not like this."

"Yeah, well," Bobby said, getting up from the floor and throwing his sponge into a pail. "You'd be surprised what Dean's capable of when it comes to you."

Sam flinched. The last thing he needed to be reminded of was his brother's irrational love for him. He had a hard enough time accepting Dean's arrival, but to think for one moment that the complete and utter disrespect he showed to Bobby was all Sam's fault was enough to send him over the edge. He didn't want anyone's life to suffer in any way just because he wouldn't give in to his confused sibling's twisted desires. It was bad enough that he shared them. Did he really need to act on them too?

"I want to go talk to him."

Bobby whipped around to glare at Sam. "Are you crazy?"

"I think I can reason with him."

"Oh, you think, huh? Did you know that me and him butted heads over you last night? He still wants you, Sam! He wants you in the way he knows he's not supposed to: spread out on his bed with your legs over your fucking head. Now, is that what you want? To be right back in the position you were in all those years ago?"

"Of course not," Sam replied sternly.

Bobby sighed, his anger all but lost in the face of Sam's. "I promised you that he would stay away from you, Sam. I'm doing my best to make that happen, but your sudden desire to be close to that boy is makin' it kinda hard for me to protect you."

"Look, Bobby, I know how this looks. But if there's gonna be any kind of normalcy in this household, it's going to come from me letting him in. I'm confused about this whole thing and I know I said I wanted him away, but deep down, I can't get over the fact that I'm losing just a little bit of my rage over what he's done. He's still my brother, Bobby. I can't let him go. I want to, but I can't. I think . . . I think it's time for me to forgive him."

Bobby shook his head and raised his arms in exasperation. "This is insane. What the fuck am I supposed to do about this, huh? Just let you two be buddy buddy after he deliberately sexually molested you? Yeah, let's just do that. Then when John comes back, we can all sing Kumbaya and dance naked around a campfire."

Sam's eyes widened, and Bobby let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, you forget about him, did you? He's not going to be gone forever, Samuel. If there's one thing I can count on about your father, it's that he always comes back eventually. And let me tell you something; when he does, you better be ready for it, because I guarantee you, he's not going to be as lenient about this whole thing as I am."

Bobby walked past Sam to get to the front door, and Sam watched him leave in silence before kicking the cupboard below the sink in frustration. The entire situation with Dean was getting out of hand. What made it even worse was just how vulnerable he was becoming to his older brother. It was his love for Dean that gave the boy everything he needed to take advantage of Sam in the first place, and, four years later, it seemed as if they were both still dancing to the same old familiar tune. How the hell was he supposed to forgive Dean when he couldn't even trust him? And how could he not when his brother was the one who took care of him for most of his life? All those years cramped in motel room after motel room with the task of caring for a little brother when he was too young to even fend for himself had to have been a burden. But he still did it, regardless of how unfair it was. Dean was bathing, feeding, clothing, and diapering Sam before he'd even turned five, and Sam knew that those memories wouldn't just conveniently disappear long enough for him to disown his brother. Their bond was too strong, and Sam hated Dean for it, resented the idea that he could be tied down to a love he didn't even want anymore, yet craved badly enough that he felt like a terrible person for even considering forgiving Dean. It was confusing, it was madness, it was . . .

"Sammy?"

Sam froze. _Oh god._

Turning around slowly, Sam took in the sight of his dirty brother with a moan so inaudible, he barely heard it with his own ears.

"Dean."

A combination of oil and grease stained Dean's pale skin, hair disheveled in the way it used to get when Sam's fingers would pull on it during a long night of strenuous intercourse (_don't go there. Please don't go there_). His black shirt was drenched in his sweat, the torn blue jeans hanging low on his hips making Sam's mouth water. After all this time, Dean still had the ability to get under his skin in a way that nobody else could, filling Sam's body with a familiar fondness he could have sworn he'd grown out of long ago.

Dean took a step closer, but stopped when Sam retaliated by taking a step back. The hurt look the action put on Dean's face disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced with a mask of cool indifference that Sam's never seen directed at him before. It hurts him in a way he can't explain, and he has to reach behind himself to grasp the edge of the kitchen sink in a tight grip to avoid dropping to his knees and begging his big brother for forgiveness.

"What's the matter, Sam?" Dean asked, the icy tone he used sending a chill up Sam's spine. "Can't stand the thought of being near me? Think I'm gonna hurt you?"

Sam tried to respond, but all he could get out was a shaky breath that somehow got caught in the middle of his throat. Dean's stern expression intensified as he took slow, cautious steps towards Sam, closing in on him like a predator about to devour his prey. Sam watched it all happen in slow motion, closing his eyes when Dean was close enough that the breath he blew out his nose fell on Sam's face like a gentle caress. Before he knew what had hit him, Dean's hands were reaching out to rest right next to his brother's, leaving Sam trapped between the sink and Dean's body.

"Look at me, Sammy," Dean whispered. When Sam didn't answer, his voice rose in pitch. "I said look at me."

Sam slowly opened his eyes and stared at Dean. "What do you want, Dean?"

Dean looked at him for a moment before grabbing hold of something around his neck and dangling it in front of Sam's face. "Remember this?"

Oh, he remembered alright. It was the amulet Dean had given him as a boy one Christmas night when his father had been too busy hunting monsters to bother showing up to spend time with his boys. John was supposed to get that necklace, but it was on that night that Sam realized he didn't deserve it. No, that amulet needed to go around the neck of someone who was always there for him when times got tough, someone who would always wipe his tears and soothe all his problems away.

Someone like Dean.

Sam felt his eyes tear up. "You still have it," he whispered, more to himself than Dean.

"I wear it over my heart. It was the only thing I had left of you when dad sent me away, this and a picture that had your face on it."

Dean's face suddenly hardened, and the tone of his voice took on an angry edge that Sam didn't think he'd ever be on the receiving end of. "I have spent every second of my existence looking out for you. I've put aside every single need I'd ever had just so I could take care of you, because lord knows dad wasn't gonna do it. Your desires became my desires, your needs my responsibility to meet. I lived and breathed you, Sam. Sammy. _My_ Sammy. Dad made it perfectly clear that you were mine the night our mother died, and I had no choice but to care for you at a time when I couldn't even care for myself. I've sacrificed so much for you, and you have the nerve to think that I could hurt you?"

Sam knew he should be angry, knew he should yell and scream, tell Dean he had no right to play the victim card when he'd taken advantage of the power he held over his baby brother, but . . . he just couldn't find it in him to feel anything other than regret. He didn't want to live this way anymore. He didn't want to be a prisoner in his own house and he didn't want to forget all the good his brother had done for him. The sight of the amulet spoke louder than any words they could ever say to each other, and its presence on Dean's neck was what finally sealed Sam's fate.

He had to forgive his brother. There was no other option.

Before he could tell this to Dean, the older boy was storming away from him in anger, turning at the doorway to shoot one last glare Sam's way.

"I'm the only person who's ever been there for you, Sam. I'm the only one that's always gonna be there. I think that warrants a little fucking respect, don't you?"

It wasn't until Dean slammed the front door and peeled out of the driveway in the Impala that Sam finally admitted to himself that his brother was right.

* * *

The crowd gathered at the school Monday morning stunned Sam into silence as Bobby pulled up to the entrance, both of them frowning as they realized something was very wrong.

"Maybe I should get out," Bobby said.

"I don't know, Bobby. It's probably no-" Sam's denial was interrupted when he caught sight of Bessie Jackson walking towards the car with a somber expression on her face. The presence of a gossip queen was never a good thing when there were other people involved, and Sam knew right then and there that he wasn't going to like whatever it was the old woman had to say.

"Bobby, we have a problem."

Bobby's face darkened. "What is it?"

"It's Miss Claudette's daughter, Virginia. Her body was just found in front of the school building. The poor thing's head had been cut off and the sweater she always wears is missing."

"Ah, shit," Bobby muttered.

Sam's brows furrowed. "But I thought her and her family were supposed to be on vacation?"

"Evidently not," Bessie remarked dryly. "Apparently, Virginia was left behind because she had a date with someone. Now, I know Virginia was a promiscuous girl who was into older men, but I don't know of a single soul in this town over the age of eighteen who would dare take home an underage girl. I do, however, think the town is going to be looking for someone to blame."

"You think they're gonna go after Dean . . . don't you?" Bobby replied knowingly.

"Dean knew her, Bobby. If you were anyone else, what would you think?"

Sam sighed in frustration, head falling back against the seat. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, Virginia had to go and get herself killed. Now, the town is out for blood and he knew Bessie was right. Trying to look at things from everyone else's perspective was enough to know that Dean was going to be the main suspect in that girl's murder. The facts were stacked against Dean, and Sam knew it. He had a reputation, he was kicked out of his father's house and sent to go live with a respected member of the community who'd just died from what the police had originally labeled an "accident" (according to Bobby anyway), and now a girl that he knew was just killed. Not to mention, everyone is still wondering why John kicked him out in the first place. If they found out the truth . . . Sam didn't think he'd be able to show his face in public again.

Blowing out a shaky breath, Sam made a move to get out of the car, but was stopped by Bobby's hand on his arm.

"I don't think you should go out there."

Sam smiled sadly. "I'll be alright. I just need to act normal, that's all."

Bobby looked like he wanted to protest, but let Sam go all the same. When he got to the crowd gathered around Virginia's body, he saw Adam scanning the faces of everyone there until his eyes finally narrowed in on Sam. Eyes widening, he violently pushed himself through the mess of jumbled bodies until he reached his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around Sam in a deathlike grip Sam found himself enthusiastically returning.

"Oh, god, Sam. Thank god you're alright. They told me someone had died and I couldn't stop thinking about you. I was so worried."

Sam shoved his face in Adam's neck, wanting the comfort of someone familiar to keep him grounded.

_The scent's all wrong. Where's the leather and gunpowder? Why is his voice so soft? It should be rougher, like he just downed an entire bottle of whiskey in less than a minute. And why is his body not hard enough? His arms don't feel strong. I don't feel protected. It's all wrong. _

_Oh, god. _Why did he always have to think this way when he was around Adam?

Pulling himself away, Sam tried to form something resembling a smile, though he probably failed miserably. "It's okay. I'm okay. I just can't believe anyone would do this."

"It gets worse," Adam said. "Apparently, her parents never reached the airport they were supposed to be at. They drove up to Cici's Diner to grab a bite to eat and no one's seen or heard from them since."

The arms Sam had wrapped around himself fell to rest at his sides. "Did they go missing at the same time this happened?'

"That's what everyone is saying. How the hell does everyone in this town find out about all this shit before the police? This all supposedly happened last night and everybody seems to know everything about it already."

"Where are the cops anyway?"

"On their way. Principal Anderson was the one who made the call. You'd think they'd be here by now."

Sam frowned. "I have to go home, Adam. I can't be here right now."

Adam's head whipped around. "Oh, no. There's no way you're leaving my side. If you want to leave, fine, but you should come home with me."

Sam tried not to let his annoyance show. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Adam. Besides, my brother would freak out if I didn't come straight home after something like this. You don't have to worry about me when he's there. I promise you, I'll be fine."

Adam tried to argue, but one kiss from Sam was enough to get the boy to give up, on the condition that Sam call him before the day was over.

_Overprotective boyfriends_, Sam thought with a tiny smile.

"Hey, Winchester!"

Sam turned around at the sound of his last name, scowling when he caught sight of Roger Eaton. "Everyone here knows exactly who did this. You better tell that brother of yours to watch his back."

Sam looked around at all the accusing faces with a sense of dread. He should have known that it wasn't going to take very long for the whole school to start pointing fingers at Dean. Now, Sam was an accessory to it all because he was his little brother. How in the world he was going to survive this, he had no clue. But, what he did know, was that Virginia was murdered. If it turns out that her parents are now dead for the same reason, then maybe Rosa's death could somehow be connected to those murders. If that's the case, then there was a serial killer running loose, and so far, he was killing people that knew Dean on a personal level. Maybe the killer knows Dean? If he knows Dean . . . then maybe he knows his family too.

Sam turned around and ran away from the unfriendly eyes burning holes in his flesh, stopping behind the school building so he could throw up in the bushes. His life wasn't supposed to be like this. Ever since Dean came back, things have gotten worse than they've ever been before, and Sam wasn't sure how long he could hold on before he finally cracked. All he knew was that the entire school hated him, and he was stuck in a house with a molesting brother who was now being accused of murder.

Yep, it was official. Sam was royally screwed.


	5. A Matter Of Revenge

**Great Odin's raven! This chapter took me all day to complete! Sorry about the sex scene. It was originally supposed to be for a one-shot, but then it somehow got incorporated into the story as a moment in Sam and Dean's past that Dean has a dream about. I'm apologizing for it in advance because I don't know how good it is. It ended up a whole hell of a lot dirtier than I wanted it to be. Then again, it's my first story with my first sex scene, so throw me a frickin' bone here! **

** I'm going to be working for nine days straight and I'm not sure if I'll have the time to give you another chapter, so I decided to make this one as long as I could. I'm not sure I like the writing, but the plot is pretty damn interesting, if I do say so myself. I already have it all played out in my head. Now, I just gotta get it down on paper, so to speak. Let me know what you guys think of it, as I spent all day on the damn thing. Now, I'm gonna go relax and geek out over the extended Captain America trailer. Good day. **

* * *

Detective Raphael Walsh parked his black Sudan a block away from the local high school before looking over at his partner in the passenger seat, briefly swatting at the puff of smoke blown purposefully in his direction. "So, I suppose we should have seen this coming, eh?"

Stuart Bison smirked. "In a town filled with supernatural activity? Please."

"Do you think we've finally found him?"

"I sure fucking hope so," Bison muttered, slamming his coffee cup down on the dashboard. "Because if we mess this up again, the boss is gonna have our asses handed to us on silver platters drenched in our fucking blood."

Walsh chuckled, giving his partner's thigh a playful smack. "Whelp, time to face the music. Let's hurry up so we can get the hell out of here."

Both men got out of the car and made their way over to the crime scene with more than a little determination, roughly pushing past the horde of people on the street as they followed the sound of Chief Morrello's voice encouraging the civilians to keep their distance.

Morello took one look at them and laughed. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Ben and Jerry."

"Fuck off, Morello," Bison snarled. "That was one fucking time. God, I really wish I hadn't of told you that story."

"But you did," he insisted, walking with them over to what appeared to be the body of a teenaged girl. "And now I'm never gonna let you live it down."

"Whatever."

Walsh, ignoring the bantering going on behind him, knelt down by the body and glanced at the decapitated head beside it. She was young, probably around fifteen or sixteen, with blue eyes that were once beautiful, but were now pale and lifeless, compliments of death's lethal touch. Her blonde hair was matted from what looked like a mixture of blood and mud, and the skirt that clung to her body was hiked up, the dried crimson stain in her genital region suggesting she had been violated either before or after death. The decapitation, along with the brutal way the victim's body was put on display for the whole world to see, was proof that Walsh had finally found what he was looking for.

_He's here. We've actually fucking found him. _

The medical examiner knelt beside Walsh and stared hard at the expression on his face. "You seem a little too happy for someone who's just witnessed the cruelty of humanity."

Walsh smiled. "It's good to see you too, Lucille. Tell me what's up with this one. It's clear to me that she wasn't killed here."

"Definitely not. There's no mud around here, which makes me wonder if maybe she wasn't killed somewhere up in Lakeview park. You know, there are woods surrounding that whole area."

"Yeah, but the nearest row of houses is practically right across the street from there. Anyone could have heard her screams."

"I can't imagine she'd want to make any noise if he threatened her with a weapon," Lucille replied, sighing as she followed Walsh's gaze to the spot between the girl's legs. "He definitely raped her. Those wounds aren't post-mortem. Fucking bastard wasn't going to make this easy for her. Thought it would be fun to play with the poor thing first."

Walsh gave her a sad smile. "We're gonna get this guy, Lucy. I promise."

"I hope so. Because the parents are missing. You think they could have done this?"

Walsh tried not to let his glee show. "The parents are missing?"

"Hey, Walsh! Come on! We've got a serial killer on our hands and there are witnesses to question."

Walsh got up from his place on the floor and practically ran over to Bison, grabbing his arm and dragging him off to the side where nobody could hear them. "It's him, Bison. He's here."

Bison grinned. "I fucking knew it. We get this motherfucker and we'll be on the employee of the month list for the next ten lifetimes."

"Yeah, no shit," Walsh replied, turning to look at the crowd.

"You know, a lot of murderers like to be near the place where they left their victims. He could be here right now laughing in our faces and we'd never even know it."

Walsh glanced at Bison before refocusing his eyes on the crowd, his intense gaze deepening with stubborn resilience. "Don't you worry, Bison. This isn't over, not by a long shot. I'm gonna get this asshole. I'm gonna get him if it is the last thing I do."

* * *

Dean's brows furrowed, the dream he was in transporting him to a memory long forgotten. He could feel a certain sensation deepening inside of him, getting stronger with every second he slipped further into unconsciousness. Giving himself over to sleep, he fell into the past with an eagerness he wasn't aware he was taking part in, the bedroom in Bobby's house shifting and changing into a motel room from long ago. His brain reprogrammed itself into an old mindset resembling that of his sixteen year old self, and before he knew it, he was on top of a mattress different from the one he fell asleep in, enveloping him in a new reality where sleep dissolved, replaced with something he felt before he even fully knew what it was.

_Pleasure. The first thing Dean noticed before he even fully regained consciousness. Intense, like the rush of adrenaline that passes through your system when falling down a roller coaster. The feeling pulled a prolonged moan from him so deep, it rumbled from his very core, enveloping him in a warmth so sweet. _

_Sucking. There was something surrounding his cock. He could feel the warm, wet suction contracting rhythmically around the sensitive skin, smacking and slurping coming from down below. The pressure increased, and another groan, louder this time, originated from somewhere behind his closed lips. _

_Moaning. A tone so soothing to his ears kept vibrating around him, making his eyes flutter open. Something familiar about the sound kept gnawing at him, and his brain, clouded from sleep, tried to focus long enough to glance down at whatever was causing his body to thrum with overwhelming bliss._

_Sammy._

_Dean's Sammy. Dean's beautiful, sweet, innocent little Sammy had his swollen lips stuffed so full of his big brother's cock, the length was barely visible to Dean's line of sight. His brain couldn't process what was taking place before him, but his disbelief didn't stop Sam from lifting up and taking him all the way down again, moaning around Dean like a starved man who was just given a huge piece of meat. _

_Oh, god._

"_Sam?" Dean asked, voice rough with sleep. _

"_Brother," Sam whimpered around Dean, voice sounding so needy, it made Dean's cock ache._

_Dean grabbed Sam by the hair and reluctantly dragged him off his dick, nearly coming instantly at Sam's whine of protest. _

"_Don't, big brother. I need it. Need it so bad. Wake up. Please, wake up."_

_Sam got off the bed then, and Dean's fingers gripped the sheets as he resisted the urge to grab his little boy and drag him back where he belonged. He nearly died when Sam began removing his clothes one by one, giving Dean a show when all he wanted was a fuck._

"_I'm horny, De," Sam moaned._

_Christ. "Yeah?"_

_A blush that had nothing to do with bashfulness crept up little Sammy's cheeks as he slowly pulled his boxers down past his hips, arousal written all over his face. "Yeah. Want you to do what you did to me last night."_

_Dean growled, all control lost in the face of his brother's lust. Springing up from the bed, he grabbed Sam's waist and pulled him on the mattress, moaning when Sam spread his legs like the fucking cocktease he was. Blanketing himself over his little boy, Dean shot him a predatory smile that made the child's breath catch in his throat. _

"_You want it again, huh? Want me to slobber all over your sweet little hole like a dog? Eat you out like a girl?"_

_Sam whimpered. _

"_You gotta open up for me this time, Sammy. Big brother can't help you unless you give up that sweet meat." _

_Dean smirked at Sam's wide eyes. "Yeah, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout, don't you, baby? You gonna relax for your big brother, Sammy? Gonna be a good boy and let me pleasure that asshole 'till you come all over me?" _

"_Yeah," Sam whispered breathlessly. _

_Pulling himself off Sam, Dean slid down his body until he was eye level with his baby's hole, giving it little kisses that made Sam gasp in surprised pleasure. Dean's full lips soon became insistent, each peck increasing in pressure until the urge to slurp and suck was too much for the older boy to resist. Exhaling loudly, Dean buried his face between Sam's ass cheeks and tried sucking as much of the rim as he could into his mouth. Sam screamed, and the sound should have been enough for him, but he wanted more. The boy was as tight as a vice, refusing to give Dean the one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world. It drove him crazy._

"_Fuck," Dean hissed, annoyed. "You're doing it again."_

"_Doing what?" Sam whined._

"_You're all closed up like a fucking virgin. Open up that little boy pussy for me, Sammy."_

"_I'm trying!"_

"_Not hard enough. Relax your muscles. I can't-I gotta-" Dean used both his thumbs to rub Sam's hole, stretching it apart before closing it back up. "Yeah, there we go. Gonna coax that shit right out."_

"_De-"_

"_Shh, it's okay. Calm down. We're gonna be here for a while, so you might as well lie back and enjoy the ride. Want you to scream, baby boy. Want the whole fucking world to know what you really think of big brother."_

_Sam's eyes fell closed, head falling to the side as a moan ripped out of him. Dean ignored him, spitting on his hole and licking a long stripe up his ass crack._

"_Dean! Ah, f-fuck, big brother." _

_Dean's face contorted in concentration, rubbing his fingers against Sam's sensitive flesh and reveling in the moan he got in return for his efforts. He could see just the tiniest hint of the soft skin Sam was hiding from him, and the thought of how sweet it would taste drove him to the edge of madness. Placing his mouth over the rim, he sucked hard, growling when Sam's body started to retract what was beginning to bloom like a flower, trying its best to take away the very thing Dean refused to give up. _

"_Come on," Dean whispered. "Open up, you motherfucker."_

_Finally, after what seemed like forever, he watched as Sam's hole relaxed beneath his full lips, expanding to reveal the part of Sam that Dean couldn't ever seem to get enough of. _

_Dean slid a finger inside Sam and nibbled around it, licking and sucking all over his brother's hole. _

"_Oh, yeah," Dean moaned, his words muffled from the skin pressed against his wet mouth. "Here it comes. Hmm, look at all that meat, Sammy. Gettin' all fluttery and shit."_

_Sam cried out as Dean's finger moved in and out in time with his rhythmic sucking of the boy's skin. "Deeeeeee. You can't . . . gotta stop-" _

"_Ah, shit. Look at that. Fuckin' look at it, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed, astonished. "Got so swollen for me, like it wants it just as much as you do. Fuck, open that shit up. I gotta-I gotta eat that pink, baby. Gonna fuckin' destroy it." _

_Dean crooked his finger and worked up a come hither motion, massaging Sam's prostate while slobbering all over the boy's hole like it was the best thing he's ever tasted. _

_And it was. God, how it was. _

_He didn't know how long he spent ignoring Sam's pleas for him to stop, but he was vain enough that he felt powerful for being the only one who could make Sam fall apart the way he always did for Dean. All of that 'we shouldn't do this because it's wrong' bullshit always surfaced when he was building the kid up to the strongest orgasms on the face of the fucking planet, and he knew that the guilt and the shame that came with being fucked by your big brother was the only thing keeping Sam from admitting that this was where they were meant to be. Sam was meant for this, meant to take his big brother so good and deep, and if he had to fuck that logic into Sam, then so be it. _

"_Oh, god. Dean, stop. I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come."_

_Dean chuckled. "That's the whole point. Want you to come, baby boy. Want to feel you come on my tongue." _

_Sam screamed, the sound going straight to Dean's dick. He felt Sam spasm around him, and sank his mouth down on the boy's sweet little cock just in time to swallow his come. The taste of his brother was always better than anything in the whole fucking world to Dean, and he never passed up the chance to take as much of Sam's essence as he could into himself. _

_When the kid was spent, Dean crawled up his body and fell on top of him with a lusty grunt, licking into his mouth while clenching Sam's sweaty bangs in his sticky fingers. _

"_Goddamn, Sammy," he whispered. "Love how good that little cock tastes when I'm suckin' the sperm right out of it. So fuckin' sweet, Sam." _

"_We shouldn't have-I don't know why I-"_

"_Shh. Just keep your legs spread."_

_Sam's brows furrowed in confusion as he locked eyes with his brother. "Why?"_

_Dean licked at Sam's lips and began rubbing his cock against his brother's smaller one, both boys moaning softly at the sensation. "I wanna . . . fuck you."_

"_Oh, god."_

"_You gonna let me? Huh, Sammy? You gonna let me get my prick all up in your tight little ass?" _

"_I f-fucking h-hate you."_

"_Tell me you want it," Dean snarled. "I know you do, so just say it."_

_When Sam didn't answer, Dean bit the spot where his neck met his shoulder, growling at the fist pulling at his spiky hair. _

"_Fucking say it, I said!" _

"_Yes," Sam yelled. "I-I want it, De. Want it so bad. Hate that I want it. Give it to me. Give me your thick cock. I'm dripping for it. Gotta have it. Please, do it. Please. Oh, god, please. I need you." _

_Dean, spurred on by Sam's begging, withdrew without warning and stormed over to the nightstand beside the bed, ripping the drawer open to rummage through the contents inside. Coming up with a plastic bottle of lube he kept for when their father was out of town and he had Sammy all to himself, he all but ran back to the mattress, plopping himself back between his brother's spread legs and pouring a generous amount on his shaking fingers. _

"_I'm gonna ruin your life, Sammy," Dean promised, blowing out a hesitant breath when he felt Sam clamp down tight around the two digits sliding inside of him. "You're not gonna be able to walk for a fucking year by the time I'm through with you tonight. I'm gonna fuck that hole slowly, intimately. Gonna get all up inside you and work you so fucking good, and just when you're about to come, I'm gonna stop. Know why? 'Cause I want you to beg. I want you to give up all this 'I don't want to do this' crap and give in to me. I love you so much, Sammy. Gonna show you how much. Gonna make you feel it, shove it all up in there until you're full of me." _

_Dean removed his fingers from Sam's ass, replacing it with his cock before the boy could even think to protest. He slid inside without thinking, so used to being where he considered home that he never thought to ask his brother if he was ready. Sam's hole was loose from Dean's hands, giving up no resistance as Dean pulled all the way out before slamming back in, growling at the wet sound the lube made from the impact. _

"_Dean," Sam whimpered, grabbing onto Dean's shoulders and locking his ankles around his brother's thighs, legs falling open as if he couldn't hold them up anymore. _

_Dean rested himself on his elbows, looking in Sam's eyes as he pulled out slowly until only the tip remained, then shoved in fast. He kept up that same pace, moaning long, loud, and hard each time he sheathed himself in tight heat. His groans every time he thrust inside Sam were guttural, rough, and sounded so dirty to his ears, he almost felt ashamed of himself for fucking his twelve-year-old little brother to the point where the kid's eyes were rolling in the back of his head . . . almost. _

_Dean sped up, little by little, screwing Sam into the mattress so good, the springs began squeaking from their weight, keeping time with the headboard as it banged against the wall. Skin slapped against skin, and the slippery sound of the lube got louder the longer Dean thrust in and out. He couldn't bring himself to stop, even when Sam started to cry from the intense pleasure Dean was giving him. _

"_Ahh!" Sam whined loudly, shakily. He sounded like he was in pain, and it sent a thrill through Dean so strong, he stopped thrusting and closed his eyes, willing himself not to come. _

"_Don't make noises like that, Sammy. Fucking hell, I'm gonna come in you."_

"_My tummy feels funny," Sam whimpered. "It's gonna happen again. I'm gonna . . . orgasm. _

"_Oh, fuck," Dean moaned, circling his hips involuntarily. "Gonna make you do it, Sam. Feel that adult prick all up in your little kid hole? Feel it sliding in and out so good, baby boy? Massaging you from the inside, rubbing my dickhead against that sweet spot? I'm not gonna show you any mercy. Gonna make you spit that come all over my stomach, Sammy. Make those muscles contract so fucking hard, baby boy."_

_Dean pounded into Sam over and over, their moans getting louder with each thrust. Sam's nails bit into Dean's shoulders as his head fell to the side, screaming his ecstasy into the night sky. The moonlight was the only thing keeping them from fucking in complete darkness, making Dean groan at the sweat shimmering on their writhing bodies. When Sam tensed beneath him, he gave a brutal thrust, growling as Sam's forehead creased with pleasure. _

"_Ohhh," Sam moaned, the noise coming from somewhere deep in his throat. "Ohhh shiiiiiiit."_

"_Yeah, that's what I fucking thought. I knew exactly what you were doing, little brother. I'm not gonna let you deprive me of your orgasm. Stop holding back because it's not gonna do you any good. You're gonna fucking give it to me, Sammy. Whether you like it or not, I'm gonna have that come . . . Oh, god. Big brother's gonna come in that asshole, Sammy. I'm gettin' you all sticky and then I'm gonna suck my shit straight outta you and make you swallow every last drop. Ahhh, fuuuck!" _

_Dean groaned his release into Sam's face, smacking their lips and tongues together so sloppily, saliva glistened all over their mouths, falling down their chin and necks. Before Dean's climax ended, Sam ripped his face away and shouted Dean's name, painting his brother's stomach with come. _

"_You nasty little shit," Dean growled. " Ah, fuck. I'm gonna keep comin' in that hole." _

_Sam's mouth fell open, stomach muscles fluttering, the outline of Dean's cock bulging through his stomach as another orgasm came from somewhere deep inside, forcing more come out through his hard little dick. _

"_Filthy boy," Dean snarled. "Give me that come, you little fucker."_

"_Oh, god! Dean! Fuck!"_

_For a moment, everything went still inside Dean's head. Then, before he knew it, another intense sensation rippled from his dick and he found himself dropping another load of come in Sam's ass._

"_Yeah," Dean groaned loudly, another moan ripping from him as his thrusting caused the lube covering his cock to make a loud, wet squelching sound from between their bodies. "Ooooh." _

_Dean pulled out before his orgasm faded, both brothers crying out at the pleasure the action brought. Kneeling between Sam's legs, Dean used his fingers to stretch the boy's hole as wide as it could get._

"_Look at you, drippin' all wet and shit. Your pink is all red and puffy from our fuckin.' Looks so good, baby boy. I'm gonna suck it all out and you're gonna swallow it for me, aren't you? Open you legs, goddamn it. Wanna get my tongue all up in that dirty little ass crack." _

_Dean licked around the swollen hole, pressing his mouth into it so he could suck his own come out of his brother. _

"_De, don't," Sam whimpered quietly. "Deee. Feels so . . . ahhh."_

_Dean wrapped his fingers around Sam's dick, chuckling as he felt his brother climax a third time. "Damn, Sam. Got ya good tonight, didn't I, baby?" _

"_F-fuck, De."_

_Dean crawled up Sam's body and watched as his obedient little brother parted his lips without having to be told, swallowing the come Dean offered him. Their tongues tangled slowly, cuddling together as they basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking. _

"_That was good, yeah?" Dean asked, kissing Sam's neck. _

_Sam didn't answer. Dean looked up confused, and found tears falling down his brother's face. "Sam? What's wrong?"_

_Sam buried his face in Dean's neck, holding onto him like his life depended on it. "Nothing. Just hold me."_

_Dean obeyed, listening to the sound of his brother's heartbeat. They usually fell asleep tangled up in each other's arms and tonight was no different. But, before Dean could sink into a comforting slumber, a strange noise began from somewhere above him, almost like a voice calling his name. He didn't want to give in. He wanted to stay this way with Sam forever. But the person calling was persistent, and it wasn't long before he surrendered, allowing the voice to pull him further and further out of his dream until-_

"Dean?"

Dean let out a whimpered 'no' before turning on his side, doing his best to block out whoever it was trying to wake him from the best dream he's had in three years.

"C'mon, boy. Can't be sleepin' the day away just because Sam went out for the weekend."

Dean's ears perked up at that. Lifting his head, he turned to glance at Bobby with sleep filled eyes. "What? Why? Where did he go?"

"He went to stay at Jeremy's. He's your brother's best friend. He just wanted to get away after the whole murder business went down."

Dean looked confused. "What murder business?"

"Shit," Bobby swore. "I never told you about that, did I?"

Dean sat up. "Bobby," he warned.

"Virginia's dead. She was murdered and we all found out about it yesterday morning when I was about to drop Sam off at school. He probably assumed that I'd tell ya, but I guess I sort of . . . forgot to mention it."

"And you just let him fucking leave?"

"Don't raise your tone with me, boy. He's better off over there. Don't worry. I've already had a talk with Jeremy's mom and I have the number in case you want me to call him and make sure he's alright. This is the best thing for him, Dean. He deserves to get away from this train wreck for a day or two."

Dean sighed. "I hate it when he's not close by. Makes it harder for me to protect him."

Bobby resisted the urge to smile. "That's just it, kid. He doesn't need you to do that anymore. He's a big boy now. He's lived just fine without your 'protection' for the past four years. I seriously doubt two more days is gonna kill the little bastard."

Dean didn't want to admit it, but the old man had a point. Rather than acknowledge it, he just grunted stubbornly and puffed out his bottom lip in the way he usually did when things didn't go his way. "Whatever."

Bobby was about to respond when the doorbell rang. "Now, who the hell could that be?"

Getting off the bed, both him and Dean walked up to the front door side by side. Giving each other a sideways look, Bobby opened up the door and groaned internally at the two detectives standing in front of them. He should have known this was going to happen. He just kind of hoped it would have taken the townspeople longer to start pointing accusing fingers Dean's way.

The taller detective removed his sunglass, neatly folding them inside the pocket of his suit jacket. He had short black hair combed over to one side and blue eyes that bore into Dean's with an intensity rarely administered with such accuracy by someone as young as he appeared to be. He would definitely give Bobby a run for his money, no doubt about it.

The other one was small in stature, equipped with a pot belly and brown eyes so dark, they looked almost black. His hair was lighter, though that was partially due to the sunlight beating down on the man's head as though it were attracted to the gel stiffening the strands. This one looked about as dumb as a bag of hammers, but the slightly sinister expression in his cold eyes made Bobby believe he was probably a lot more ruthless than he appeared to be.

Before Bobby could enquire as to the nature of their visit, the taller one spoke up. "I'm detective Walsh. This is my partner, detective Bison. We're here to speak to a Mr. Dean Winchester. We've been told he lives here. Would you happen to know his whereabouts?"

"I'm Dean Winchester," Dean growled, holding Walsh's stare with a cold-blooded fierceness that would have shocked Bobby had he not seen it first hand every time a supernatural creature was stupid enough to try to fuck with Sam.

"Dean, we're here on behalf of a murder investigation regarding Virginia Peters. We'd like to ask you a couple of questions, if you don't mind. May we come in?"

Dean and Bobby exchanged wary glances. Finally, Bobby spoke up. "I suppose."

They moved aside to let the detectives past, watching as they made their way into the kitchen.

"What the hell is this about?" Dean hissed at Bobby.

Bobby stared straight ahead, his expression somber. "Well, kid . . . I believe they're accusing you of murder."

* * *

"Alright," Sam muttered, squeezing the house phone involuntarily. "I understand. Thanks, Bobby. Bye."

Sam hung up and locked eyes with his friend, warning him with his dark expression not to ask questions, which he did anyway. "Hey, Sam. What's up with your brother? He in trouble or something?"

"Nothing we can't handle."

"You know, a lot of people think he's the one who murdered that Virginia girl."

Sam's face darkened. "He didn't kill anyone, alright? Just leave him alone."

"Okay, okay. Just trying to make conversation."

Sam chuckled, the atmosphere in the room lightening considerably. "And _that's_ what you come up with? I knew there was a reason I hated you."

Jeremy smiled. "Hey, what are friends for, right?" Plopping down on the couch, he continued. "So . . . what _is_ wrong?"

Sam blew out a breath and sat down next to his friend. If only there was a way for him to express his feelings to Jeremy without giving away the truth. But how could he reiterate 'I was molested by my brother who is now accused of being a cold-blooded murderer that I may or may not be in love with' without having it sound like . . . _that_?

"I'm just confused is all. Me and my brother sort of grew apart in the years he was gone. But, now that he's back, I can't seem to stay away from him. I hate and love him at the same time so being around him is a total mess. Now, this whole thing with Virginia's murder is happening and I just don't know what to make of it all. Everyone hates me because they think he did it. I hate him because I feel like everything I'm going through right now is all his fault and it's just this big old mess that I can't seem to clean up."

Jeremy watched the loose wood wiggle underneath his foot. "I'm sorry, Sam. I wish there was something I could do to make it better. I could suggest talking out your feelings with your big bro, but . . . I doubt you want to broach that subject."

"I'll figure it out somehow," Sam mumbled. "Hey, let's watch a movie. I do believe Star Wars is on tonight."

"You got it, buddy."

Sam waited until Jeremy walked out of the room to put his head in his hands. He was doing just fine until Bobby had to screw it up by telling him about those detectives. Why the hell did they have to come around and bug his brother anyway? He knew Dean, and Dean wasn't a killer. At least, not the kind they're talking about. If Dean is guilty of anything, it's his unhealthy obsession with Sam. Well . . . that, and the shitty way he's always making Sam's decisions for him, like he's incapable of caring for himself or something.

Who the hell did Dean think he was anyway? It's not like Sam was a baby. Wasn't he the one who pushed Dean out of the way and staked that vamp before he had a chance to make his older brother into a meal? Wasn't he the one who beat up that fifteen year old kid when he was younger for trying to steal Madison Crane's lunch money? He knew how to defend himself. He knew how to hunt, how to spar. He knew practically everything there was to know about every demon, shape shifter, werewolf, ghost, and vampire on the damn planet, and yet, Dean _still_ couldn't give Sam any breathing room to try and be his own man. It was so frustrating. It-

Why the hell was he getting mad about something so stupid? He should be worried about what the kids in school were gonna think of him. He should be worried about his brother being accused of a murder he didn't commit. Instead, he was thinking about something so painfully _normal_ that he almost laughed out loud at the sudden relief that took over him. Younger brothers were supposed to think about their older brothers the way Sam was thinking about Dean. It was a step in the right direction. It gave him hope that he could rebuild what Dean almost destroyed and get him and his brother back to where they were supposed to be, where normal brothers were supposed to be. Maybe . . . maybe he could still have Dean after all.

With a new pep in his step, Sam skipped into Jeremy's bedroom with an ease he used to think he was no longer capable of. He'd made up his mind. When he got back to the house, he was going to start rebuilding his relationship with Dean. After all, they'd survived sexual abuse, separation, and the death of their mother. Whatever it was they were going through now, they'd blow past that obstacle as well. With all that they've been through, there wasn't a single thing in this world that could possibly get in their way now.

Right?

* * *

From somewhere in the woods, far away from the prying eyes of a civilization gone sour, someone was digging a grave for two dead bodies lying on their backs at his feet. The worms that wiggled in the dirt were crushed beneath the heel of his boot as he reached a hand out to grab the plastic bags covering the bodies of his victims, chuckling wickedly while hurtling them into the shallow ground. It wouldn't be long before a jogger would come running by this area, noticing the hand sticking out of the earth, lifeless fingers hanging limply like wilted flowers that somehow lost the will to survive. Then, he would once again be recognized by the public for his handiwork, for his priceless works of art should be recognized. He was a modern-day Bosch of the criminal world, killing his victims in such ways that the colorful brutality of it was almost beautiful in both its simplicity and its graphic imagery.

He knew that everyone wasn't going to know about him personally, but that was alright with him. They only needed to know of his work, not the real person behind it. As long as it got him what he wanted, the person taking the fall for his crimes could take the credit all they wanted. In the end, he knew the real source.

Yes, it wouldn't be long now. Soon, the police were going to find the bodies of Claudette and Evan Peters. The public will rage and cry and ultimately point their dirty little fingers in a direction far away from him, and he will watch from afar as detectives Walsh and Bison allow those smug expressions to come over their ugly faces, smirking at each other as if this will finally be the day that they catch him.

But they won't catch him. He's too smart, too cunning. He will get away this time, and the time after next. He will bask in the light of victory as he watches them fall all over each other, yelling to the sky because they just didn't have it in them to catch the illusive killer giving them a run for their money.

Burying the parents of Virginia Peters, the killer stood up and made his way over to his Jeep Wrangler, getting into the driver's seat and pushing his foot on the gas pedal before he'd even shut his door. Smiling, he drove off into town with a glint in his eye and a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel, revenge a beautiful tune in his ears that blocked out the sound of the radio as he came face to face with the Singer household coming up on his right. Parking across the street, he picked up his leftover bowl of popcorn and looked through Dean Winchester's bedroom window, smirking as he watched the boy wrap his left hand up in gauze.

Soon, he was going to get his revenge on that motherfucker. He would make him take the fall for his crimes, bringing about a barrage of pain and misery that would eventually make poor little Dean cave under the pressure. Then, when the police are closing in on him, he'll confront the teenager by reigning down his own brand of bloody vengeance that'll make even the gods jealous. It will be glorious. It will be insanity. It will be a murder to remember.

_Just you wait, Dean_, he thought to himself. _Your ass is mine. _


End file.
